The goal of buddhist
meditation is Nibbana. We incline towards the peace of Nibbana
and away from the complexities of the sensual realm, the endless
cycles of habit. Nibbana is a goal that can be realized in
this lifetime. We dont have to wait until we die to know if
its real.

The senses and
the sensual world are the realm of birth and death. Take sight for
instance: its dependent on so many factors  whether its
day or night, whether or not the eyes are healthy, and so on. Yet
we become very attached to the colours, shapes and forms that we perceive
with the eyes, and we identify with them. Then there are the ears
and sound: when we hear pleasant sounds we seek to hold onto them,
and when we hear unpleasant sounds we try to turn away. With smells:
we seek the pleasure of fragrances and pleasant odours, and try to
get away from unpleasant ones. Also with flavours: we seek delicious
tastes and try to avoid bad ones. And with touch: just how much of
our lives is spent trying to escape from physical discomfort and pain,
and seeking the delight of physical sensation? Finally there is thought,
the discriminative consciousness. It can give us a lot of pleasure
or a lot of misery.

These are the
senses, the sensual world. It is the compounded world of birth and
death. Its very nature is dukkha, it is imperfect and unsatisfying.
Youll never find perfect happiness, contentment or peace in
the sensual world; it will always bring despair and death. The sensual
world is unsatisfactory, and so we only suffer from it when we expect
it to satisfy us.

We suffer from
the sensual world when we expect more from it than it can possibly
give: things like permanent security and happiness, permanent love
and safety, hoping that our life will only be one of pleasure and
have no pain in it. If we could only get rid of sickness and
disease and conquer old age. I remember 20 years ago in the
States people had this great hope that modem science would be able
to get rid of all illnesses. Theyd say, All mental illnesses
are due to chemical imbalances. If we can just find the right chemical
combinations and inject them into the body, schizophrenia will disappear.
There would be no more headaches or backaches. We would gradually
replace all our internal organs with nice plastic ones. I even read
an article in an Australian medical journal about how they hoped to
conquer old age! As the worlds population keeps increasing wed
keep having more children and nobody would ever get old and die. Just
think what a mess that would be!

The sensual world
is unsatisfactory and thats the way its supposed to be.
When we attach to it, it takes us to despair  because attachment
means that we want it to be satisfactory, we want it to satis-fy us,
to make us content, happy and secure. But just notice the nature of
happiness how long can you stay happy? What is happiness? You may
think its how you feel when you get what you want. Someone says
something you like to hear, and you feel happy. Someone does something
you approve of, and you feel happy. The sun shines and you feel happy.
Someone makes nice food and serves it to you, and youre happy.
But how long can you stay happy? Do we always have to depend on the
sun shining? In England, the weather is very changeable: the happiness
about the sun shining in England is obviously very impermanent and
unsatisfactory.

Unhappiness is
not getting what we want: wanting it to be sunny when its cold,
wet and rainy; people doing things that we dont approve of;
having food that isnt delicious and so on. Life gets boring
and tedious when were unhappy with it. So happiness and unhappiness
are very dependent on getting what we want, and having to get what
we dont want.

But happiness
is the goal of most peoples lives; in the American constitution,
I think, they speak of the right to the pursuit of happiness.
Get-ting what we want, what we think we deserve, be-comes our goal
in life. But happiness always leads to unhappiness, because its
impermanent. How long can you really be happy? Trying to arrange,
control and manipulate conditions so as to always get what we want,
always hear what we want to hear, always see what we want to see,
so that we never have to experience unhappiness or despair, is a hopeless
task. Its impossible, isnt it? Happiness is unsatisfactory,
its dukkha. Its not something to depend on or make
the goal of life. Happiness will always be disappointing because it
lasts so briefly and then is succeeded by unhappiness. It is always
dependent on so many other things. We feel happy when were healthy
but our human bodies are subject to rapid changes and we can lose
that health very quickly. Then we feel terribly unhappy at being sick,
at losing the pleasure of feeling energetic and vigorous.

Thus the goal
for the Buddhist is not happiness, because we realize that happiness
is unsatisfactory. The goal lies away from the sensual world. It is
not rejection of the sensual world, but understanding it so well that
we no longer seek it as an end in itself. We no longer expect the
sensory world to satisfy us. We no longer demand that sensory consciousness
be anything other than an existing condition that we can skilfully
use according to time and place. We no longer attach to it, or demand
that the sense impingement be always pleasant, or feel despair and
sorrow when its unpleasant. Nibbana isnt a state
of blankness, a trance where youre totally wiped out. Its
not nothingness or an annihilation: its like a space. Its
going into the space of your mind where you no longer attach, where
youre no longer deluded by the appearance of things. You are
no longer demanding anything from the sensory world. You are just
recognizing it as it arises and passes away.

Being born in
the human condition means that we must inevitably experience old age,
sickness and death. One time a young woman came to our mona-stery
in England with her baby. The baby had been badly ill for about a
week with a horrible racking cough. The mother looked totally depressed
and miserable. As she sat there in the reception room holding the
baby, it fumed red in the face and start-ed screaming and coughing
horribly. The woman said, Oh, Venerable Sumedho, why does he
have to suffer like this? Hes never hurt anybody, hes
never done anything wrong. Why? In some previous life, what did he
do to have to suffer like this?

He was suffering
because he was born! If he hadnt been born, he wouldnt
have to suffer. When were born we have to expect these things.
Having a human body means that we have to experience sickness, pain,
old age and death. This is an important reflection. We can speculate
that maybe in a previous life he liked to choke cats and dogs or something
like that, and he has to pay for it in this life, but thats
mere speculation and it doesnt really help. What we can know
is that its the kammic result of being born. Each one
of us must inevitably experience sickness and pain, hunger, thirst,
the ageing process of our bodies and death its the law of kamma.
What begins must end, what is born must die, what comes together
must separate.

Were not
being pessimistic about the way things are, but were observing,
so we dont expect life to be other than it is. Then we can cope
with life and endure it when its difficult, and delight when
its delightful. If we understand it, we can enjoy life without
being its helpless victims. How much mis-ery there is in human existence
because we expect life to be other than what it is! We have these
romantic ideas that well meet the right person, fall in love
and live happily ever after, that well never fight, have a wonderful
relationship. But what about death! ? So you think, Well, maybe
well die at the same time. Thats hope, isnt
it? Theres hope, and then despair when your loved one dies before
you do, or runs away with the dustman or the travelling salesman.

You can learn
a lot from small children, because they dont disguise their
feelings, they just express what they feel in the moment; when theyre
miserable they start crying, and when theyre happy they laugh.
Some time ago I went to a laymans home. When we arrived, his
young daughter was very happy to see him. Then he said to her, I
have to take Venerable Sumedho to Sussex University to give a talk.
As we walked out of the door, the little girl fumed red in the face
and began screaming in anguish, so that her father said, Its
all right, Ill be back in an hour., But she wasnt developed
to that level where she could understand Ill be back in
an hour. The immediacy of separation from the loved was immediate
anguish.

Notice how often
in our life there is that sorrow at having to separate from something
we like or someone we love, from having to leave a place we really
like to be in. When you are really mindful you can see the not-wanting
to separate, the sorrow. As adults, we can let go of it immediately
if we know we can come back again, but its still there. From
last November to March, I travelled around the world, always arriving
at airports with somebody meeting me with a Hello! 
and then a few days later it was Goodbye! And there was
always this sense of Come back, and Id say Yes,
Ill come back... and so Ive committed myself to
do the same thing next year. We cant say, Goodbye forever
to someone we like, can we? We say, Ill see you again,
Ill phone you up, Ill write you a letters
or until next time we meet. We have all these phrases
to cover over the sense of sorrow and separation.

In meditation
were noting, just observing what sorrow really is. Were
not saying that we shouldnt feel sorrow when we separate from
someone we love; its natural to feel that way, isnt it?
But now, as meditators, were beginning to witness sorrow so
that we understand it, rather than trying to suppress it, pretend
its something more than it is, or just neglect it.

In England people
tend to suppress sorrow when somebody dies. They try not to cry or
be emotional, they dont want to make a scene, they keep
a stiff upper lip. Then when they start meditating they can
find themselves suddenly crying over the death of someone who died
fifteen years before. They didnt cry at the time, so they end
up doing it fifteen years later. When someone dies, we dont
want to admit the sorrow or make a scene because we think that if
we cry were weak, or its embarrassing to others. So we
tend to suppress and hold things back, not recognizing the nature
of things as they really are, not recognizing our human predicament
and learning from it. In meditation were allowing the mind to
open up and let the things that have been suppressed and repressed
become conscious, because when things become conscious they have a
way of ceasing rather than just being repressed again. We allow things
to take their course to cessation, we allow things to go away rather
than just push them away.

Usually we just
push certain things away from us, refusing to accept or recognize
them. Whenever we feel upset or annoyed with anyone, when were
bored, or when unpleasant feelings arise, we look at the beautiful
flowers or the sky, read a book, watch TV, do something. Were
never fully consciously bored, fully angry. We dont recognize
our despair or disappointment, because we can always run off into
something else. We can always go to the refrigerator, eat cakes and
sweets, listen to the stereo. Its so easy to absorb into music,
away from boredom and despair into something thats exciting
or interesting or calming or beautiful.

Look at how dependent
we are on watching TV and reading. There are so many books now that
theyll all have to be burnt  useless books everywhere,
everybodys writing things without having anything worth saying.
Todays not-so-pleasant film stars write their biographies and
make a lot of money. Then there are the gossip columns: people get
away from the boredom of their own existence, their discontent with
it, the tediousness, by reading gossip about movie stars and public
figures.

Weve never
really accepted boredom as a conscious state. As soon as it comes
into the mind we start looking for something interesting, some-thing
pleasant. But in meditation were allowing boredom to be. Were
allowing ourselves to be fully consciously bored, fully depressed,
fed up, jealous, angry, disgusted. All the nasty unpleasant experiences
of life that we have repressed out of consciousness and never really
looked at, never really accepted, we begin to accept into conscious-ness
 not as personality problems any more, but just out of compassion.
Out of kindness and wisdom we allow things to take their natural course
to cessation, rather that just keep them going round in the same old
cycles of habit. If we have no way of letting things take their natural
course, then were always controlling, always caught in some
dreary habit of mind. When were jaded and depressed were
unable to appreciate the beauty of things, because we never really
see them as they truly are.

I remember one
experience I had in my first year of meditation in Thailand. I spent
most of that year by myself in a little hut, and the first few months
were really terrible all kinds of things kept coming up in my mind
 obsessions and fears and terror and hatred. Id never
felt so much hatred. Id never thought of myself as one who hated
people, but during those first few months of meditation it seemed
like I hated everybody. I couldnt think of anything nice about
anyone, there was so much aversion coming up into consciousness. Then
one afternoon I started having this strange vision  I thought
I was going crazy, actually  I saw people walking off my brain.
I saw my mother just walk out of my brain and into emptiness, disappear
into space. Then my father and my sister followed. I actually saw
these visions walking out of my head. I thought, Im crazy!
Ive gone off!  but it wasnt an unpleasant
experience.

The next morning
when I woke from sleep and looked around, I felt that everything I
saw was beautiful. Everything, even the most unbeautiful detail, was
beautiful. I was in a state of awe. The hut itself was a crude structure,
not beautiful by anyones standards, but it looked to me like
a palace. The scrubby looking trees outside looked like a most beautiful
forest. Sunbeams were streaming through the window onto a plastic
dish, and the plastic dish looked beautiful! That sense of beauty
stayed with me for about a week, and then reflecting on it I suddenly
realized that thats the way things really are when the mind
is clear. Up to that time Id been looking through a dirty window,
and over the years Id become so used to the scum and dirt on
the window that I didnt realize it was dirty, Id thought
that thats the way it was.

When we get used
to looking through a dirty window everything seems grey, grimy and
ugly. Meditation is a way of cleaning the window, purifying the mind,
allowing things to come up into consciousness and letting them go.
Then with the wisdom faculty, the Buddha-wisdom, we observe how things
really are. Its not just attaching to beauty, to purity of mind,
but actually understand-ing. It is wisely reflecting on the way nature
operates, so that we are no longer deluded by it into creating habits
for our life through ignorance.

Birth means old
age, sickness and death, but thats to do with your body, its
not you. Your human body is not really yours. No matter what your
particular appearance might be, whether you are healthy or sickly,
whether you are beautiful or not beautiful, whether you are black
or white or whatever, its all non-self. This is what we mean
by anatta, that human bodies belong to nature, that they follow
the laws of nature: they are born, they grow up, they get old and
they die.

Now we may understand
that rationally, but emotionally there is a very strong attachment
to the body. In meditation we begin to see this attach-ment. We dont
take the position that we shouldnt be attached, saying: The
problem with me is that Im attached to my body. I shouldnt
be. Its bad, isnt it? If I was a wise person I wouldnt
be attached to it. Thats starting from an ideal again.
Its like trying to start climbing a tree from the top saying,
I should be at the top of the tree. I shouldnt be down
here. But as much as wed like to think that were
at the top, we have to humbly accept that we arent. To begin
with, we have to be at the trunk of the tree, where the roots are,
looking at the most coarse and ordinary things before we can start
identifying with anything at the top of the tree.

This is the way
of wise reflection. Its not just purifying the mind and then
attaching to purity. Its not just trying to refine consciousness
so that we can induce high states of concentration whenever we feel
like it, because even the most refined states of sensory consciousness
are unsatisfactory, theyre dependent on so many other things.
Nibbana is not dependent on any other condition. Conditions
of any quality, be they ugly, nasty, beautiful, refined or whatever,
arise and pass away  but they dont interfere with Nibbana,
with the peace of the mind.

We are not inclining
away from the sensory world through aversion, because if we try to
anni-hilate the senses then that too becomes a habit that we blindly
acquire, trying to get rid of that which we dont like. Thats
why we have to be very patient.

This lifetime
as a human being is a lifetime of meditation. See the rest of your
life as the span of meditation rather than this ten-day retreat. You
may think: I meditated for ten days. I thought I was enlightened
but somehow when I got home I didnt feel enlightened any more.
Id like to go back and do a longer retreat where I can feel
more enlightened than I did last time. It would be nice to have a
higher state of consciousness. In fact, the more refined you
go the more coarse your daily life must seem. You get high, and then
when you get back to the mundane daily routines of life in the city,
its even worse than before, isnt it? Having gone so high,
the ordinariness of life seems much more ordinary, gross and unpleasant.
The way to insight wisdom is not making preferences for refinement
over coarseness, but recognizing that both refined and coarse consciousness
are impermanent conditions, that theyre unsatisfactory, their
nature will never satisfy us, and theyre anatta, theyre
not what we are, theyre not ours.

Thus the Buddhas
teaching is a very simple one. What could be more simple than what
is born must die? Its not some great new philosophical
discovery, even illiterate tribal people know that. You dont
have to study in university to know it.

When were
young we think: Ive got so many years left of youth and
happiness. If were beautiful we think, Im
going to be young and beautiful for-ever, because it seems that
way. If were twenty years old, having a good time, life is wonderful
and somebody says, You are going to die some day, we may
think, What a depressing person. Lets not invite him again
to our house. We dont want to think about death, we want
to think about how wonderful life is, how much pleasure we can get
out of it.

So as meditators
we reflect on getting old and dying. This is not being morbid or sick
or depressing, but its considering the whole cycle of existence;
and when we know that cycle, then we are more careful about how we
live. People do horrible things because they dont reflect on
their deaths. They dont wisely reflect and consider, they just
follow their passions and feelings of the moment, trying to get pleasure
and then feeling angry and depressed when life doesnt give them
what they want.

Reflect on your
own life and death and the cycles of nature. Just observe what delights
and what depresses. See how we can feel very positive or very negative.
Notice how we want to attach to beauty or to pleasant feelings or
to inspiration. Its really nice to feel inspired, isnt
it? Buddhism is the greatest religion of them all or When
I discovered the Buddha I was so happy, its a wonderful discovery!
When we get a little bit doubtful, a little bit depressed, we go and
read an inspiring book and get high. But remember, getting high is
an impermanent condition, its like getting happy, you have to
keep doing it, sustaining it and after you keep doing something over
and over again you no longer feel happy with it. How many sweets can
you eat? At first they make you happy  and then they make you
sick.

So depending on
religious inspiration is not enough. If you attach to inspiration,
then when you get fed up with Buddhism youll go off and find
some new thing to inspire you. Its like attaching to romance,
when it disappears from the relationship you start looking for someone
else to feel romantic towards. Years ago in America I met a woman
whod been married six times, and she was only about thirty-three.
I said, Youd think you would have learned after the third
or fourth time. Why do you keep getting married? She said, Its
the romance. I dont like the other side but I love the romance.
At least she was honest, but not terribly wise. Romance is a condition
that leads to disillusionment.

Romance, inspiration,
excitement, adventure, all these things rise to a peak and then condition
their opposites, just as an inhalation conditions an exhalation. Just
think of inhaling all the time. Its like having one romance
after another, isnt it? How long can you inhale? The inhalation
conditions the exhalation, both are necessary. Birth conditions death,
hope conditions despair and inspiration conditions disillusionment.
So when we attach to hope were going to feel despair. When we
attach to excitement its going to take us to boredom. When we
attach to romance it will take us to disillusion-ment and divorce.
When we attach to life it takes us to death. So recognize that its
the attachment that causes the suffering, attaching to conditions
and expecting them to be more than what they are.

So much of life
for so many people seems to be waiting and hoping for something to
happen, expecting and anticipating some success or pleasure 
or maybe worrying and fearing that some painful, unpleasant thing
is just lying in wait. You may hope that you will meet somebody who
youll really love or have some great experience, but attaching
to hope takes you to despair.

By wise reflection
we begin to understand the things that create misery in our lives.
We see that actually we are the creators of that misery. Through our
ignorance, through our not having wisely understood the sensory world
and its limitations, we have identified with all that is unsatisfactory
and impermanent, the things that can only take us to despair and death.
No wonder life is so depressing! Its dreary because of the attachment,
because we identify and seek ourselves in all that is by nature dukkha:
unsatisfactory and imperfect.

Now when we stop
doing that, when we let go, that is enlightenment. We are enlightened
beings, no longer attached, no longer identified with anything, no
longer deluded by the sensory world. We understand the sensory world,
we know how to co-exist with it. We know how to use the sensory world
for compassionate action, for joyous giving. We dont demand
that it be here to satisfy us any more, to make us feel secure and
safe or to give us anything, because as soon as we demand it to satisfy
us it takes us to despair.

When we no longer
identify with the sensory world as me or mine,
and see it as anatta, then we can enjoy the senses without
seeking sense-impingement or depending on it. We no longer expect
conditions to be anything other than what they are, so that when they
change we can patiently and peacefully endure the unpleasant side
of exist-ence. We can humbly endure sickness, pain, cold, hunger,
failures and criticisms. If were not attached to the world we
can adapt to change, whatever that change may be, whether its
for the better or for the worse. If were still attached then
we cant adapt very well, were always struggling, resisting,
trying to control and manipulate everything, and then feeling frustrated,
frightened or depressed at what a delusive, frightening place the
world is.

If youve
never really contemplated the world, never taken the time to understand
and know it, then it becomes a frightening place for you. It becomes
like a jungle: you dont know whats around the next tree,
bush or cliff  a wild animal, a ferocious man-eating tiger,
a terrible dragon or a poisonous snake.

Nibbana means
getting away from the jungle. When were inclining towards Nibbana
were moving towards the peace of the mind. Although the
conditions of the mind may not be peaceful at all, the mind itself
is a peaceful place. Here we are making a distinction between the
mind and the conditions of mind. The conditions of mind can be happy,
miserable, elated, depressed, loving or hating, worrying or fear-ridden,
doubting or bored. They come and go in the mind, but the mind itself,
like the space in this room, stays just at it is. The space in this
room has no quality to elate or depress, does it? It is just at it
is. To concentrate on the space in the room we have to withdraw our
attention from the things in the room. If we concentrate on the things
in the room we become happy or unhappy. We say, Look at that
beautiful Buddha image, or if we see something we find ugly
we say, Oh, what a terrible disgusting thing. We can spend
our time looking at the people in the room, thinking whether we like
this person or dislike that person.

We can form opinions
about people being this way or that way, remember what they did in
the past, speculate about what they will do in the future, seeing
others as possible sources of pain or gratification to ourselves.

However, if we
withdraw our attention it doesnt mean that we have to push everyone
else out of the room. If we dont concentrate on or absorb into
any of the conditions, then we have a perspective, because the space
in the room has no quality to depress or elate. The space can contain
us all, all conditions can come and go within it.

Moving inwards,
we can apply this to the mind. The mind is like space, theres
room in it for everything or nothing. It doesnt really matter
whether it is filled or has nothing in it, because we always have
a perspective once we know the space of the mind, its emptiness. Armies
can come into the mind and leave, butterflies, rainclouds or nothing.
All things can come and go through, without us being caught in blind
reaction, struggling resistance, control and manipulation.

So when we abide
in the emptiness of our minds were moving away  were
not getting rid of things, but no longer absorbing into conditions
that exist in the present or creating any new ones. This is our practice
of letting go. We let go of our identification with conditions by
seeing that they are all impermanent and not-self. It is what we mean
by vipassana meditation. Its really looking at, witnessing,
listening, observing that whatever comes must go. Whether its
coarse or refined, good or bad, whatever comes and goes is not what
we are. Were not good, were not bad, were not male
or female, beautiful or ugly. These are changing conditions in nature,
which are not-self. This is the Buddhist way to enlightenment: going
towards Nibbana, inclining towards the spaciousness or emptiness
of mind rather than being born and caught up in the conditions.

Now you may ask,
Well if Im not the conditions of mind, if Im not
a man or a woman, this or that, then what am I?, Do you want me to
tell you who you are? Would you believe me if I did? What would you
think if I ran out and started asking you who I am? Its like
trying to see your own eyes: you cant know yourself, because
you are yourself. You can only know what is not yourself  and
so that solves the problem, doesnt it? If you know what is not
yourself, then there is no question about what you are. If I said,
Who am I? Im trying to find myself, and I started
looking under the shrine, under the carpet, under the curtain, youd
think, Venerable Sumedho has really flipped out, hes gone
crazy, hes looking for himself. Im looking
for me, where am I? is the most stupid question in the world.
The problem is not who we are but our belief and identification with
what we are not. Thats where the suffering is, thats where
we feel misery and depression and despair. Its our identity
with everything that is not ourselves that is dukkha. When
you identify with that which is unsatisfactory, youre going
to be dissatisfied and discontented  its obvious, isnt
it?

So the path of
the Buddhist is a letting go, rath-er than trying to find anything.
The problem is the blind attachment, the blind identification with
the appearance of the sensory world. You neednt get rid of the
sensory world but learn from it, watch it, no longer allow yourselves
to be deluded by it. Keep penetrating it with Buddha-wisdom, keep
using this Buddha-wisdom so that you become more at ease with being
wise, rather that making yourself become wise. Just by
listening, observing, being awake, being aware, the wisdom will become
clear. Youll be using wisdom in regard to your body, in regard
to your thoughts, feelings, memories, emotion, all of these things.
Youll see and witness, allowing them to pass by and let them
go.

So at this time
you have nothing else to do except be wise from one moment to the
next.